The music of the bards could no longer be heard in Riverrun's High Hall.
Blood gathered into rivulets along the steps of the dais and slowly trickled down.
A heavy coppery stench filled the air, mingling with the aroma of food and fine wine into a strange, sickening smell.
Edmure Tully stood below, staring blankly at it all.
He still held his sword, but he had not swung it once.
There had been no need.
The Frey soldiers who had been grinning viciously, intent on slaughtering them all, were now being sent to hell one by one by Lynn's White Walkers.
Brynden the Blackfish stood beside him.
An immensely complicated expression crossed his weathered face.
"Lord Lynn..."
Brynden struggled to speak.
"These... Frey children..."
He pointed to the Frey men who had been frightened into dropping their weapons and kneeling on the floor, sobbing and soiling themselves.
Among them were more than a dozen of Walder Frey's sons and dozens of his grandsons, including Black Walder.
And, of course, the Frey daughters.
Lynn's gaze swept over the trembling remnants of House Frey kneeling on the floor.
He saw the fear in their eyes, their despair, and the venomous hatred buried deepest within them.
He smiled.
"Ser, how do you think traitors should be dealt with?"
Brynden fell silent.
By the traditions of Westeros, the chief perpetrator of a heinous crime such as violating guest right had to be executed.
His house would also be stripped of its lands and titles, never to rise again.
Besides, betraying one's liege brought the same punishment.
Both were grave crimes.
But wiping them out root and branch...
It would not sound good when word spread...
"Walder certainly deserved to die a thousand deaths."
Brynden finally forced the words through his teeth.
"But... perhaps this